So much for grace.

[Rhindeer]

Yarra wasn't even aware that poor Whiskle was mooning the world, but then again, modesty wasn't one of the highest priorities at the moment. If need be, he had no issues with fighting while completely naked--oh, hell, he'd had to do it before! Ahem. No comment on that little incident. Let's just say it involved a female.

Sigh.

Mindful of Whiskle on his shoulder and being careful to keep his grip firm (and careful not to accidentally smack her in the face with his tail...even if it was a little tempting after that stunt she'd pulled) he watched the wraiths through narrowed eyes, studying them, thinking through the best course of action. Normally, he'd just charge right into battle and start tearing into crap, but since he'd taken on the role of acting as a temporary guardian toward Whiskle during this thing, he couldn't just rush in there headlong. Temporary guardian? Of the person who'd tried to kill him? And who wanted to kill other Drygans? Ughh...it was a contradiction and he knew it, but he had no time to question his own decision.

In any case, for the moment he was content to wait for Kit to take out the bulk of the wraiths, even as it annoyed him. But he wasn't just about to go set Whiskle down somewhere so he could kick some dragon wraith ass. He loved to fight, but he wasn't stupid, and he wasn't going to chance someone taking her.

Even if he'd have liked to drop her when she screamed, the sudden sound cutting through the eerie song making him jump. He glanced sharply back at her. "WHAT?" he growled, taken off guard, before realizing that, duh, she was probably in pain. That arrow...humans were such wimps. Dammit, he couldn't get distracted! Quickly he snapped his attention back to the front, just in time to see a small wraith scoop Val up into its arms...and vanish.

"Fuck!"

Goddammit! What had Val been doing?! Augh...well...there was nothing they could do about it now. They'd have to worry about that once these wraiths were taken care of. It sucked, but...logic first, emotions last.

...Hahaha. Yeah, right. That thought coming from someone who was ruled by one extreme emotion after another.

Well, now he was sufficiently pissed. As Kit weilded her own weapon, taking down wraith after wraith--good choice on an element, heh--Yarra flashed his teeth at the remaining wraiths in a deadly grin. He didn't even need to hear Kit's instructions; he was already on it, already releasing the power that he'd drawn up within him and focusing that power on the ones Kit missed, working right alongside her in this way. With a snarl, he leaped backwards to avoid a series of arrows aimed at him and simultaneously lashed out at it with one clawed hand, hurling white hot flame at creature. It went up in flames, the ice no match for solid flame, and Yarra wasted no time in attacking the next one, which soon came to a similar fate, shrieking and crashing straight into yet another one that had been flying a bit too close. Psha. This was easy, and Yarra was soon grinning as he used his power to take out each wraith.

Until a sharp pain tore through the back of his thigh, grazing his tail.

Letting out a sharp yelp before he could manage to grit his teeth and still clutching Whiskle around the legs, Yarra stumbled forward and only kept himself from falling, Whiskle and all, by digging the claws of his free hand into the bark of a nearby tree, talons leaving behind a series of deep, sappy gashes. Somehow, a wraith had managed to get behind them, and Yarra cursed loudly as it aimed yet another arrow for him, watching the thing from over his shoulder.

"Bastard!"

The arrow was released, and Yarra turned just in time enough to hurl another volley of fire at the beast, incinerating both the airborne arrow and the creature that released it. Pain shot up his leg from the movement, making his muscles spasm and contract, and a hissed breath of air caught in his throat as he soon found himself falling forward, his leg no longer wanting to support him.

Gah! Whiskle's shoulder!

Lashing out his tail and twisting his body, he landed hard on his bottom instead of forward and on top of Whiskle, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw ached so as to keep from yelling as the impact snapped the arrow shaft and shoved it up deeper into his leg. Shiiiit! His eyes were shut tightly, lips drawn into a thin line, and for a second everything was white with agony. Then he could function again, and he fund Whiskle, still pants-less of course, plopped in his lap.

Ow...ow...ow...

That...had been the last of the wraiths, thank Gods.

And now...aw, holy fuck...he...couldn't move.

He didn't want to move.

Because if he did? He had a feeling he'd want to tear his own leg off.

[Anonymous]

It was so quiet and cold. Spiralling around to the core of her soul, spiralling ever further downwards, with everything tuned out apart from the static of her mind. Ice crystals on her breath, cloudy mists she could not see. The emptiness stretched before her and beyond, like the empty plains of a black desert under a starless night sky. So cold…so very cold…a ragged breath, a quivering heartbeat, a blossom of warmth in a sea of ice.

And no hope. Voices, like the static of a radio, tuning in and out of focus. A soft whisper, and the gleam of a five pointed star, and darkness, yawning out in front of her. Darkness taking on a shadow, becoming substance, but she merely groaned sleepily. None of this was happening to her, merely to that poor unfortunate soul that lay before her feet. That shivering mass of rags who pleaded and cried, beating her fists to no avail.

The swish of wings, of graceful flight. Soaring through the heavens, with the cold milky light of the heavens upon her face, caressed by the wind. The wind was her friend, her comfort blanket. She hugged it around herself, groaning softly as she tried to stay under, stay in the safe pool of her mind where she knew nothing could harm her.

There was a reason why she’d retreated here, but what was it? The steady beat of wings…breaking into her thoughts like a pick into ice…

“Please tell me!� Valhalla yelled desperately to the girl, who was on the cold stone floor, cradling her knees, rocking backwards and forwards. The girl responded by burying her head further into her knees in an attempt to make herself smaller.

“Tell me!� Valhalla commanded again, jaw clenched as she struggled to stay calm. It was proving to be a lot more difficult than it looked. The feeling of being airborne tore through her body again, and she began to feel the pangs of power drain.

“Damn!� She dropped to the ground and gazed around at the small laboratory, which resembled more of a dungeon than anything. She knelt in front of the girl and thrust her hand under the girl’s chin, forcing the girl to raise her head and meet Valhalla’s piercing eyes. “Help me!�

“I-I-I can’t,� she stammered feebly. “I can’t even help myself.�

This girl was pathetic! Valhalla almost exploded in indignation, and it was all it took to keep from slapping the girl. Instead, she gripped the girl’s shoulders and shook her gently, but firmly.

“Yes you can! You are not weak!�

But it was no use. The girl shook her head blindly, burying it in her knees again. Valhalla let go, frustrated. The feeling of emptiness, it was like a dagger had been thrust through her heart. She’d never felt so weak before. It was as if all her power had left her…every last drop.

Eyes wide, she suddenly remembered. “Kiss me!� She cried to the now astounded girl. Without waiting for a reply, Valhalla swept the girl into a lip grinding kiss, a kiss of swift desperation and of unspoken pain. The girl stopped struggling and sank into the kiss, the look of surprise wiped from her face. They breathed in unison, still lip-locked, two curly haired young women drowning in cascades of black hair- one older than the older- as one drank the kiss and energy of the other. Valhalla’s face filled with pink power, and she sighed in satisfaction. Breaking away, she regarded the younger girl, seeing herself reflected in the girl’s brown eyes.

“How did you get those purple eyes?� The girl asked tentatively, after she’d regained enough breah to speak. She reached up to touch Valhall’s face but Valhalla laid a hand gently on the girl’s, preventing her from touching her face.

“Don’t worry about it.�

Just then, a sharp dart of pain tore through Valhalla’s body and she jerked awake in the arms of a beast of shadows to gaze upon rugged landscapes of frozen ice and mountainous regions of intense rock-strewn hell.

What the fuck?

Damn damn damn damn damn!

((PM me about what happens next with the evil dude, Lazuli! ^^))

[Anonymous]

Lesphares didn’t wait for his beloved wife to answer him; he was already prepared for the arrival of the girl the Dragon Wraith was bringing to him this very moment. With a playful smile he continued to play his music…


The girl looked up to the sky as one of her children was making its way towards her. With a groan she stood up from her position in the garden, dusted the dirt from her hands and ran off towards another part of the large garden to an unoccupied empty space framed out in the middle. Once there she held out her hands to the approaching wraith and scooped up the fallen woman in her arms. With a strange smile on her face she looked down at Valhalla wondering what her Lord and Master had planned for this girl.

“You may go,� the girl told the dragon wraith and it obeyed her as they always did. She laid the girl down in the middle of the garden and glanced up at the balcony as sweet music filled her ears. The girl would wake soon enough, and when she did her Lord’s music would draw her to him…

With that thought in mind she hurried and left the "guest" alone to herself...

 <center> * * *</center>

Surprisingly, the battle didn’t last that long, and to Whiskle’s amazement she was still alive.

For now.

She sat up off of Yarra, staring down at him with a strange expression of pain and amusement, one eyebrow raised as she took in how erotic she was straddled around his waist.  

“Well,� she said smiling. “I knew you wanted to get to know me better, but I think we should wait until our wounds have healed to ah…demonstrate our affections for one another.�

She sat up then with a wicked little smile on her face and stood, not really hiding the fact she was hovering above his line of sight wearing nothing but her bare bottom, giving him a tantalizing view of her assets. “There’s plenty more where that came from,� she said winking teasingly and lifted her leg so she could step away from him.

Whiskle wasn’t one to cry in front of someone although she felt tears starting to surface. Laughterâ€"especially if she could tease someoneâ€"was the best medicine and pretty much kept her mind off of the stupid black arrow sticking out of her pretty much ruined shoulder.

She knew she would never be able to hold a weapon again, let alone her hammer. Her arm was finished and she was so bad at handling anything left handed well yeah her career was completely over as an assassin. Yeah she wanted to cry, but she leaned her back against the boulder and chuckled instead, head bent down so no one could see the look on her face.

Somehow during the middle of this her clothes were thrown about, and she was happy to find her coat untouched laying on that damn rock. She reached over her with her left hand and took it, then suddenly threw it on the ground. Then she kneeled and began searching in the pockets pulling out various items she often carried around with her since she pretty much didn’t have a home anyway. Knives, reading glasses, a book of poetry, a piece of fruit, black nail polish, a pair of earrings, two bottles of rum, a clean pair of socks, her “grow so long� facial cream, black hair dye, a bar of soap, a couple more knives…

“Ah, here they are,� she said taking out what looked to be a mini chest she held in the palm of her hand, and lifting the lid revealed inside what appeared to be a dozen if not more tiny bottles, each various in color holding some kind of liquid in it.

“Now let me see…antidote…antidote…ah, yes, this one,� she said pulling out a long blue glass bottle that fashioned a claw for the cork.

Whiskle paused a moment and then glanced over at the Drygan. Both those arrows had been poisoned, but there was only enough for one person. She really only carried these around for her anyway.

Suddenly her mind was caught in a mental tug of war. On one hand she might just go ahead and not tell the Drygan a poisoned arrow hit him, and finish her job; and on the other hand she could just give it to him. But what about her?

Oh, I thought we already decided that?

Yeah she had made her choice. She couldn’t even remember why she had wanted to kill Drygans so allowing him to shrivel here and die didn’t make any sense. That soft side in her peaked out a little more. And she too wanted her own set of answers. As to why she had so much hate for Drygans and why all that hate was suddenly disappearing like it never even existed.

For the first time in her life it felt like her head was clear. She wasn’t in some sort of drunken stupor raving around like a lunatic getting into every fight she could with any Drygan that crossed her path.

She looked at the Drygan again and her face softened even more.

I don’t even deserve to live. Look what I’ve done.

It was written all over her face.

Finally coming to a decision she kneeled by the Drygan’s side, her face not betraying her emotions or the fact that this was the end of the road for her, and handed Yarra the bottle.

“Here,� she said closing her eyes and sighing heavily. “You’ve been poisoned, you need to drink all of it to work.� Laying it down on Yarra’s stomach she reached into her little case of bottles and pulled out a bright pink slender bottle and dumped the contents down her throat. It wasn’t an antidote, but well they didn’t know that. It would just keep the pain at bay and hopefully prolong her life a little longer until, hopefully she found something for the poison that was slowly eating away at her.

But yeah only Lesphares has it. This is going to suck, I already know it.

Done with her thoughts she flashed the Drygan a pretty smile.


(ooc: Whiskle is horrible, I know. lmao)

[Anonymous]

Kit watched silently, noting Whiskles puzzling behavior. As she drew close Kit got a better look at her shoulder wound and frowned. It was unlikely she’d have proper use of that arm again, and since that was her dominant hand, being able to wield a weapon again would not come easily. Kit would not bother with asking how she got an arrow in the first place, the circumstances did not matter to her. What did was the scent mixed with blood, something foreign was in the arrow wounds, and since they were arrows it was likely poison. She gave a low growl, she did not recognize his poison and would be unable to find an antidote for it.

Now Kit made no blush whatsoever as she watched Whiskle, being a woman as well and quite used to the site of another one. She was quite curious to all the fishing around she was doing in the backpack though and soon a small chest was pulled out. Antidote? …Whiskle knew this poison… Wait…now she was giving her enemy the antidote instead? How noble and highly suspicious of her… was it really antidote? And now the woman was taking a different one… Kit regarded her for a second, watching closely. Soon she shook her head, knowing Whiskles actions were true as her words.

She got up then and made her way to them, leaning a bit of her staff. “Antidote or not these,� she pointed to the arrow in Yarras leg, “should be removed. I could pull it out slowly and attempt to limit the exit wound damage. Or I could just yank it out in one go and probably make it worse,� she grinned a little. “And of course there’s doing it yourself.� Kit assumed Yarra would elect to do it himself so she turned to Whiskle, “same choices to you.� She paused for a moment, “and if anyone would like to properly explain this…‘interesting’ turn of events, I would be most grateful.�

What really annoyed her the most about this situation though was that she had allowed that Wraith to get away with Valhalla. It wasn’t as if that one conversation cemented a friendship or that she hated it when her prey got away from her. She just felt like it was her fault for leaving her alone, that if she had paid more attention Val would still be with them and at least relatively safe. Now they had no idea where she was and if she would live for long. And it was all her fault…

[Rhindeer]

...Was sex like all humans ever thought about?!

Giving a pained hiss of annoyance, wounded or not, Yarra would have shoved Whiskle out of his lap if she hadn't gotten up first. Damn woman! "In your dreams!" he grumbled, wincing and slapping his tail irritably against the ground so it made a nice, rhythmic thumping sound. She'd only ended up in his lap because he hadn't wanted to land on top of her--he was tall and all muscle, with the extra bonus of a powerful tail, so he <I>really wasn't light at all; he'd probably end up crushing her. Why did humans have to take everything in such a...perverted way? Damn.

Snorting up at her, he averted his eyes as she effectively flashed him, his lip curled in a mixture of pain and annoyance so that one fang poked out. "Yes, I know..." he said dryly, wincing as he tried to shift his injured leg. "You left nothing for the imagination earlier. I'm just surprised you're...a female." He lifted an eyebrow, then frowned deeply at her, disapprovingly. Oh no, he hadn't forgotten that stunt she'd pulled...and he was still pissed off about it. Licking his tail...what the hell?! As though remembering that, he stopped beating up the ground with his tail and instead curled it alongside his body, where he could keep it in his view.

He didn't want anymore hands or tongues on it, thanks!

Grumping to himself as Whiskle went off to...do whatever, he shifted a little onto his side and reached a hand down to feel at his leg, then grimaced in pain. Damn, that hurt. But, he had to get it out. He flexed his fingers, stalling, and then lightly touched the arrow shaft again, clenching his jaw. Then, slowly, he wrapped his hand around it, clenched his jaw, and--

Whiskle returned with a little bottle and started going off about how he was poisoned.

Oh...the arrow.

Great.

Yarra sighed loudly and picked the bottle up, looking it over suspiciously. He wasn't too worried about the poison, considering Drygans were a bit tougher in that regard, but...even if he wouldn't die from it, that didn't mean he wouldn't get violently ill, and with his injury, his immune system might be a bit weaker. Of course, the antidote he was being offered might also be a poison; after all, she'd wanted to kill Drygans.

Yet...she didn't even really have to use a poison to kill him right now. He couldn't move with his leg right now, and already he could feel the effects of the poison, making him feel sluggish, a little dazed. If she had wanted to, that knife she had would have done the trick right now, and it would have been far faster, for surely if she had contact with Drygans she would know the poisoning was relatively ineffective. Besides, there was an odd look on her face as he looked over at her kneeling form, a strange softness to her.

She looked sincere...

Still he waited, watching her critically, until she pulled out a bottle and drank for herself.

And it wasn't because he was suspicious of her motives that he waited. Nah. Her drinking from another bottle would have proven nothing about the safety of his own. He just wanted to...well...make sure she had an antidote for herself before he also drank. After all, he would live through this, antidote or not, though at least with the antidote he wouldn't have to suffer the unpleasant effects.

After she'd drank, he popped the lid of his own bottle, titled his head back, and drank it down like it was a shot of liquor. Then he tossed the bottle aside, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and arched an eyebrow at Whiskle. She was different, that was certain, but why? She'd wanted to kill him, and now suddenly she'd turned over a new leaf and was trying to help him? Huh. Maybe there was just...something weird going on in that head of hers that he couldn't see.

Maybe she'd come to realize, finally, that not all Drygans were her adoptive father.

Whatever the case was, some change had come over her in a short amount of time and Yarra was pretty convinced that humans generally made no sense.

"Thanks..." he said slowly as Whiskle smiled at him, and managed to muster up a small smile of his own, even if it was a pained one. "But...I still don't know your name, I don't think..."

That was when Kit came over, and as soon as the words "I could" exited her mouth, he hissed and curled his tail protectively around his injured leg. Haha, no. She wasn't touching his leg! No one was! "I'll do it, thanks!" he said firmly, glaring at the girl in warning. He had an animal's mentality on the subject of injuries; if he was injured, only he would touch his wounds! No one else! He didn't trust anyone else to do it, and somewhere in that odd head of his he figured it would somehow hurt less if he did it himself.

Kit was right, though. It had to come out.

And he was really not looking forward to taking it out.

Oh well.

Wrapping his fingers around the shaft, he clamped his teeth down and paused, taking a deep breath. Screw taking it out slowly. Exhaling, he tightened his fingers around the arrow and yanked it out in one quick, smooth motion, ripping the flesh and dripping blood along the ground.

There was a moment of silence, Yarra's face completely blank as he stared at the bloody arrow-head, watching the blood bead at the arrow's point before dropping to the ground and sinking into the soil, and then...

"FUUUCK!"

He dropped the arrow and wrapped both arms around his injured leg before falling back onto his back and rolling around in agony, eyes closed and teeth bared in a pained snarl. Holy Gods! He didn't care how ridiculous he probably looked now! That hurt! He shouted a few more unintelligible curses as he clutched his leg and waited for the pain to normalize to more...tolerable levels, and he finally wound up curled in a ball on his side with his face pressed against the ground, panting with his hands pressing down on his leg to stop the bleeding. Ow. Ow. Ow. Shit. Somewhere in it all he heard Kit's question and, he managed a harsh snort, a bit of dust billowing up from his breath.

"Rrgh..." Wait...that...wasn't a word. But all the words seemed to be caught in his throat, pain numbing his brain. Coughing as he inhaled dust and then sneezing, he turned his head a little and frowned up at Kit. "Just...ask...HER," he managed to spit out.

And that was about all the talking her could do at the moment. Because "ow" was about the only thing on his mind. And, truth be told, he was just as confused as anyone, anyway.

[Anonymous]

When Valhalla opened her eyes, for a second she wasn’t even sure if she was still alive. Then she reminded herself that she was being stupid. Of course she was alive, what kind of stupid thought was that? One that she wouldn’t normally think of so why had she thought of it now?

Ow. Headache. Just stop thinking and look around.

The courtyard she lay in looked too…perfect, the small sculpted bushes too…surreal. The dainty trickle of the water cascading over the many tiers of the fountain beside her seemed too melodic, too soft, and the air she breathed in was too…clean. All in all the place was too bizarre for her liking.

Screwing up her eyes against the warming rays of the sun, she rolled onto her other side, staring at the long line of shadow that fell away from her body. A long line of scratch marks ran down her beloved dress- nothing that a good needle couldn’t fix mind- which had been dirtied from that last scuffle with dust and leaves.

That last fight…she clicked her tongue, features creased into a frown as she tried to recall the events of that last fight. And the misty haze that had followed next… she buried her face in her hands, as in her mind features transformed themselves into a cold dungeon, with a frail black haired prisoner.

Suddenly off it’s own accord the prisoner turned around, blinking twice at Valhalla with watery eyes. Valhalla shook her head violently, clearing her mind of these images. What strange new development was this? She flexed her muscles one by one, before performing a routine magic check. Energised and bursting with sparks.

A small bird flew overhead; the shrill birdsong breaking her concentration. What was this place of…paradise? Sooner or later she would have to get up. Groaning, she heaved herself to her knees with the help of a tree trunk, and stumbled to the edge of a low wall that ran all the way around the courtyard.

What was this place? From the wall, she saw sharp drops of cliffs and mountain forests for mile upon miles. A low mist clung to the ground, cowering away from the gentle sun. There was nothing for her to identify where she was…or to know what had happened.

For a brief second she was caught up in an almost paralytic fear as her unconscious mind and body remembered events of long ago…events that her mind could make no sense of and so had since discarded them for a life of sin. But she didn’t feel violated right now.

Standing at the edge of the circular courtyard she thought that maybe if she took off now, she might be able to get somewhere before nightfall. Before beings like her came out to play. But…it had been nightfall during that last battle. Damn, just how much time had passed since she’d lost consciousness?

And she…was…very weak. There was no way Valhalla would be able to escape from here in this present condition. Suddenly her ears pricked up. Her eyes narrowed in response to the slight strains of music that filtered through the air.

It seemed as if the notes were drawing her in, beckoning her to come closer…but to where? They wrapped themselves around her body, making themselves so soft and irresistible, but that only made Valhalla irritated. How could she eat music? And what kind of trickery was this?

But she could feel it working away at her mind, making her feel that if she didn’t obey then she would begin to feel oh so sleepy. Her instincts were to press against the music with her own brand of magic, but…she remembered the cost of replenishing it too well.

Ever so grudgingly, she took a step in the direction of the sound. And another. And another.

Don’t do it! She kept hissing to herself, hands bunched into claws beside her, ready to rip out anything that came near. It was a trap, whatever it was. The giant ornate columns and grand doors were nothing more than an illusion. They didn’t promise her safety and food at all.

Out of the corner of her eye she espied a being, a servant most likely, and with sudden determination she was upon her like a ghost, moving away with the grace of the wind as the servant girl swooned and collapsed. Wiping away the dribble of blood at her mouth, Valhalla licked her lips in satisfaction.

Was she in paradise? Was she in Valhalla, home of the glorious fallen? She remembered a myth she’d been told oh so long ago, of a place where the fallen feasted as kings in banquets that never ended, where the halls were always full of sweet music and everything was brought to you by Valkyries. Well then perhaps she was dead.

Valhalla suddenly had an evil thought, a thought so deliciously wicked that it caused her to shiver. She didn’t care who the other girl was, or what she meant, or why she was there. Retreating into the back of her mind, she kicked out the entity, forcing her to the front of her mind, before making herself comfortable. No matter where she was, Valhalla would make sure she took a back seat until she’d assessed the full dangers, risks and bounties.

Opening her eyes with an icy shock, she gasped as the full weight of the world bore down upon her. Flesh became real before her very eyes; she was walking through a waking dream that had just become real. She'd been released! But...where was she? Turning around in wonder, she followed the sound of sweet music, ecstasy upon her face. It was so strange to be able to move, to be able to walk. There was a room up ahead, with a door that swung open rather ominously. And inside…

((Lazuli, PM me about what should happen next with the Lesphares/Valhalla subplot!))

[Anonymous]

Whiskle could only smirk when the girl asked to explain the turn of tides that afternoon.

Interesting events? And now this Drygan wanted a name?

So much to tell, so little time to do it in…

Chuckling a little, eyes closed, breath heavy, she leaned against that cold, hard boulder which wasn’t giving her any comfort at the moment, and forced her mouth into a pleasant yet small smile.

“Sorry I’m not handing out ‘grateful’ to anyone else today,� she said pushing off the rock and reaching for the arrow still implanted deeply into her shoulder.

Feeling at the entry wound, fingers coated with her own blood, she stiffened a bit. The arrow hadn't pierced through to the other side. This arrow could not come out she realized or else it really would destroy what was left of her shoulder. It was in an awkward and very tender position that any movement would either cause her to bleed uncontrollably and die or rupture every ounce of feeling she had that was left there. Not liking both circumstances she let the arrow go and left it alone for now and biting her lip she did the only logical thing that came to mind at that moment.

Gathering up her strength she pushed off from her position and sauntered over picking up her pants and slipping them on, forcing her trembling arm that wanted to give out on her to work. She finally got them zipped and back into place and coughed a little, blood working its way into her mouth and leaving a small trickle down her chin. She then forced her feet roughly into her boots kicking at the ground to get them on just right.

She finally drew near to Yarra and Kit, squatting down to gather most of her stuff and place most of it back into her coat. That accomplished rather well she swung her coat over her good arm, her right arm giving up the fight to move as it swung useless against her side.

Whiskle dropped her floppy hat back onto her head her eccentric expression combing her pretty face in rich detail, the smile on her lips trembling with the pain of every movement and a little mirth too. Looking directly at Yarra she slipped on a pair of her dark little round sunglasses and gave him one last smile before saying, “Want a name then huh? I’ll consider it. Until then, don’t die.� Her lip shook slightly, amused. “I have such an unfair advantage you know since I know your name Yarra, and yet you don’t know mine...and I sort of like it that way.� She stayed silent for a moment for that to sink in and grinned a little.

Glancing at the arrow she said, “I think I should just leave it alone for now until I get a healer to look at it. Taking it out now would hurt too much,� she said a little cutely. And would cause the Poison to work faster. “And going to drop a random fact for your safety," she said. "The best thing is to move near people or in a village or city. Lesphares won’t attack, but out in the open, it draws too much attention…so..."

Whiskle paused to bring two fingers to her lips and whistled loudly. Seconds later a dark gray stallion poked its head out of the shadows of the forest. The brilliant prize of a horse dropped his pretty little head some to sniff at the ground. His body was well muscled, his muzzle, lower legs and hair was raven black while the rest of him shimmered like rich dark silver. His intelligent amethest eyes blinked at Whiskle and then turned to glance at Yarra.

"Quell," she said touching his nose gently, "I need you to carry someone for me, okay?"

Whiskle turned her head to look at Yarra. "Unless you want to stay here for another attack or walk? Anyway I'm leaving, follow if you want more answers to your questions...I want a hot meal and a bed to sleep in."


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(ooc: Ok this Lesphares and the other Lesphares in the other thread I’m splitting up into two separate timelines ‘cause it’s the only thing my brain can handle at the moment, lol, and so I don’t have to keep cross-posting everything…and I don’t know why but it just is happening I’m giving Val a new charrie of mine to play with, lol.)


A heavy chain rattled…

The beautiful young boy stood poised on the balcony watching the odd female with merriment written across every smooth feature of his face. First it was the draining of blood, a sensation the boy was familiar with, and now a little wicked thought drifted into the air and toward him as if the female’s mind was directly open to him and he could hear that thought, that chilling hollowed-out emotion coming from her.

The sound was incredibly light in the breeze yet the whispering increased in his mind until all he could hear was a sea of voices spilling over and over:

“ValhallaValhallaValhalla…ValkyriesValkyriesValkyries…�

Like icy tendrils the voices called to him, a sound so dead to the world it would have sent any mere mortal mad with fear.

Yet his mind trapped the knowledge in his head.

He had a name.

The boy was very good at placing a name to any creature near to him. Very good indeed. And he had a drifting idea that the girl thought herself dead. He wasn’t a god nor a dragon, no, quite something more ancient and more dangerous, yet his powers that could search out others’ thoughts and know names ended at that. To delve deeper would just be boring.

The boy reached out with a delicate porcelain hand his palm facing the heavens, and grasped those drifting words until they became his own thoughts, closing his hand around them tightly as if they took on solid form. He drank up Valhalla’s feelings at that moment as if he were sampling a rich earthy wine and allowing it to trickle down his throat with ease.

“How incredibly yummy,� he whispered into the wind.

Soon his figure flickered in the light and he was somewhere else entirely in the span of one single breath his feet taking a few fluid steps along the stony little path that wound around the castle, still in full view of Valhalla.

It was a pretty little lover’s walkway laid out in great round stones of pale silver that led back up the stairs to Lesphares’ private balcony the boy was standing at just a moment ago. His hair the crowning jewel of his appearance was the same color as his namesake: a rich shade of Cerulean, the silky strands that framed his face and forehead frosted in white. That hair that many so liked to touch, slid about his shoulders with every move he made under an intricate and arched avenue; a series of narrow garden arches strewn together to form a secret tunnel along the castle wall; a walkway that jotted out on its own up a small hill into deep sheltered areas of the garden.

The tunnel seemed to run unbroken for miles away from the main garden attraction, fluttering tree limbs dangling above the arches the deeper one went in their promenade. It was heavily scented and covered with earthy plants and white blossoming flowers that made one feel as if they were stepping into a living flower itself, wrapped in its silky petals. Although the flowers that covered the arches were in full bloom all year long up here in Lesphares’ private estate one could still be seen walking along this curious path, as the young boy was allowing Valhalla to do.

Cerulean Snow as he was called, after all liked to be watched and to make his presence known. Even if he didn’t stay in one spot for too long, flittering about like an apparition, a beautiful one at that dressed in a white silk embroidered kimono that draped off one of his silky shoulders elegantly. His bottom lip twisted into a mock smile as his fingers drifted along the metal bars isolating him from the rest of the garden. Sharp light from above pierced the shadows of his body as he casually walked on; his brightly-lit orange eyes taking a peek at Valhalla through cleverly placed vines.

Cerulean whistled a chilling tune, one that was likely to get stuck in somebody’s head forever. And he watched on. Watched as the dark haired, violet eyed female moved, hhis strangely colored eyes the only thing that followed her.

“Not dead,â€? he said leaning against the outmost side of the archway. “Valhalla, the tumbleweed,â€? he playful said with a smile her way. “Valhalla the lost. The innocent. The bloodthirsty.â€? His voice was that of a boy yet something deeperâ€"something darker could be felt in the tone of his voice.

His laughter was like sharp thorns from a rose. Beautiful yet to touch would draw blood.

“Valhalla, Valhalla, Valhalla.�

Then in the twinkling of an eye he was gone from the walkway and walking slowly as if in a dream-like state around Valhalla, a ghost that couldn't be touched yet the smile on his face said otherwise.

Come and try if you can.

Then the boy vanished again behind her and was now squatting down near a small moat some few yards away from her allowing his fingers to drift into the shimmering water, his back unguarded.

“Valhalla, Valhalla,� he seemed to call out to her playfully. “Where has poor Valhalla gone? Should I fetch her?�

Cerulean shifted on the balls of his feet still squatting to turn and look at Valhalla his fingers dripping with water.

"I like fetching."




(ooc: Ok just playing around with his powers for now, pretty much if it wasn’t confusing he can sense out drifting thoughts and feelings from people, but not really read their minds, he can’t do that. He’s very, very old even though he looks young like around 15, and he’s quite powerful yet his powers are sort of suppressed by Lesphares. And for some reason Cerulean is whistling that freaky tune from Kill Bill, lmao. I dunno why I just hear him whistling something creepy like that! Yep another scary mo’fo is born!

Sorry if the garden archway was confusing that took me hours to get right, lol. And umm Cerulean can’t be touched or grabbed, dunno why he just can’t my mind tells me and he’s very old I think not…he just wouldn’t allow it to happen but you can call out to him or maybe go up to him and talk to him, lol. I guess I’ll know more about him as I play him XD)

[Anonymous]

Kit smirked, almost proudly as Yarra so venomously refused her assistance. Or perhaps it was a more knowing smirk. For some reason Kit found it comforting and amusing that Yarra was so predictable to her. It wasn’t that she was going to use that against him or anything devious like that. She found herself at ease because his predictability meant there would be few surprises. And Kit oh so hated surprises.

She blinked as Yarra cursed. Then Kit quickly covered her mouth with a hand, snickering behind it. Why the hell was she laughing? The guy was in pain after all. But she wasn’t really laughing at his pain, it was that stall between pulling the arrow out and realizing it hurt. For some reason it was just too hilarious for her. Kit nearly doubled over as she snickered, leaning  on the staff a bit more. Soon afterwards when it came time for her to breath Kit made sure to take long deep ones to calm down. She stood upright then and glanced over to Whiskle.

Her expression grew grim as she watched. That arrow…that’s going to cause a lot of problems for her… Immediately Kit half wished the injury was hers, or at least that she would have been able to prevent it. She did step forward to help, but Whiskle seemed to manage on her own. And Kit also felt that she might dishonor her in some way if she did so.

She smirked again as Whiskle spoke to Yarra. Kit wasn’t put off at all by the lack of attention for her. In fact Kit kept quite silent, thinking it rude to interrupt. She had to admit, she would have said the same. She was actually doing something similar from the beginning. Kit wasn’t her real name. And likely, Kit would never tell any of them her true name. It would be better that way.

Kit nodded when she spoke about the arrow, finding her judgment sound. What she didn’t like was the idea of being near people. It wasn’t just because she was a bit antisocial…she stayed away from people to keep them safe. Even being near a town…Kit avoided it at all costs. She frowned a little and looked away for a moment, calculating. Yarra and Whiskle were both injured. If she went with them into the town….and if a pursuer caught up to her…well… Kit set a determined face for a moment. She’d just have to protect them both wouldn’t she?! Of course the best course would be to lure the opponent away…but she would just have to figure that part out when she got there.

Her gaze returned to Whiskle when she called the stallion. Kit stared blatantly at it, finding it to be the most beautiful horse she had ever seen. For a moment Kits expression changed completely, her features became gentle, and her usually pricing eyes softened considerably. Quell…it suits him. She wasn’t terribly worried that the aura she gave as a kitsune would frighten the steed. If fact, animals usually acted quite submissive around her. She had always suspected the Black Fox was a very important spirit, but the way animals where obedient to her also suggested it had some sort of authority.

In the next second Kit was back to her usual self, her face once again indifferent and her eyes aloof. She stood up then, letting the staff rest against her shoulder. Kit simply nodded again, being the quiet sort. Of course now she felt out of place, especially since she had no ties to either of them. But she would follow anyway. Her curiosity of the drygan was too great. Not to mention she couldn’t leave them like that. Kit wouldn’t say so for Yarras sake, but she wasn’t about to let them wander without a decent, uninjured fighter on hand.